Gibaja (Cantabria, España)
This won’t last much longer. Perhaps we are already on our farewell tour. I keep telling myself that, whispering it at first, as if trying to protect myself. But eventually, it grows louder, unavoidable, and I can’t help but face the truth.
The joy I once felt on our trips is gone. Whether we set out for a walk from our accommodation, wander through the dunes of Laredo, or stroll through the old town of Santander – it all feels empty, meaningless. Not even hiking in the mountains can change that. And in the accommodation itself, I feel the least at home. I’m tired of traveling. And sometimes – increasingly often – tired of life.
None of the places we’ve visited in Spain have touched me. They remain strangely distant, unwelcoming, almost soulless. And the people who live here? I can’t connect with them. The language barrier is just an excuse because, honestly, I don’t even care anymore. I’m just going through the motions. I work, go about my daily routine, and hike. That’s it. But something essential is missing for me to feel comfortable here: peace.
The walls of our accommodation are so thin that they block no sound at all. At first, I barely noticed it, but ever since the apartment next door became occupied, it has become unbearable. The people there show no consideration, no awareness of others around them.
I am disappointed. Disappointed by the accommodation, disappointed by the area, disappointed by everything. The sidewalks are littered with dog waste, garbage, and abandoned items. The buildings look neglected, as if they were thrown up once and then left to decay. Everywhere there are signs saying se vende – for sale. It’s as if people wait for a house to become completely uninhabitable before they sell it.
There’s a lack of care, a lack of pride. Not just for the buildings, but for the streets, and especially the cars. Almost every second vehicle is dented, scratched – a symbol of the indifference that seems to pervade this place. None of the locations we’ve visited have managed to challenge this impression. With one exception: the accommodations we’ve stayed in before were at least better. But here?
Would we ever want to return to any of the places we’ve visited? No. Not one of them left a positive, lasting impression. Instead, something else has stuck: the certainty that we don’t want to come back to this country again.
This won’t last much longer. Perhaps we are already on our farewell tour. I keep telling myself that, whispering it at first, as if trying to protect myself. But eventually, it grows louder, unavoidable, and I can’t help but face the truth.
The joy I once felt on our trips is gone. Whether we set out for a walk from our accommodation, wander through the dunes of Laredo, or stroll through the old town of Santander – it all feels empty, meaningless. Not even hiking in the mountains can change that. And in the accommodation itself, I feel the least at home. I’m tired of traveling. And sometimes – increasingly often – tired of life.
None of the places we’ve visited in Spain have touched me. They remain strangely distant, unwelcoming, almost soulless. And the people who live here? I can’t connect with them. The language barrier is just an excuse because, honestly, I don’t even care anymore. I’m just going through the motions. I work, go about my daily routine, and hike. That’s it. But something essential is missing for me to feel comfortable here: peace.
The walls of our accommodation are so thin that they block no sound at all. At first, I barely noticed it, but ever since the apartment next door became occupied, it has become unbearable. The people there show no consideration, no awareness of others around them.
I am disappointed. Disappointed by the accommodation, disappointed by the area, disappointed by everything. The sidewalks are littered with dog waste, garbage, and abandoned items. The buildings look neglected, as if they were thrown up once and then left to decay. Everywhere there are signs saying se vende – for sale. It’s as if people wait for a house to become completely uninhabitable before they sell it.
There’s a lack of care, a lack of pride. Not just for the buildings, but for the streets, and especially the cars. Almost every second vehicle is dented, scratched – a symbol of the indifference that seems to pervade this place. None of the locations we’ve visited have managed to challenge this impression. With one exception: the accommodations we’ve stayed in before were at least better. But here?
Would we ever want to return to any of the places we’ve visited? No. Not one of them left a positive, lasting impression. Instead, something else has stuck: the certainty that we don’t want to come back to this country again.